


Dark

by Little Spoon (AlwaysTheLittleSpoon)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Hale's Thumb Hole Sweater, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Protective Derek, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing Clothes, Worried Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9654743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysTheLittleSpoon/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Operating under the assumption that Stiles belongs to Derek given their unique brand of intimacy, someone from Derek's past kidnaps them with the plan to use Stiles as leverage. It doesn't quite go as planned.Derek finds he would do anything for Stiles, even let him wear the coveted thumbhole sweater, but that may be part of what got them into this situation in the first place.





	

 

It’s a common misconception that animals can see in the dark. The ability to see, even deep in the woods in the middle of the night depends on the availablity of light; the moon being the main source.

Some animals have evolved to cope with certain environmental anomalies. Stiles had rambled on about the strange mysterious sea creatures that lived in the pitch black of the ocean’s depths at length once. They’d been making homemade pizza in their loft. Or Stiles had been. Derek had been relegated to vegetable chopper, but he had dutifully nodded along and made the appropriate noises of agreement when required.

In the absence of light, anyone, or anything, is blind, even a young beta werewolf. Something Derek knew far too well.

The only source of light in his small prison came when the door opened. The sudden shock of light blinded him, and he was forced to close his eyes and lean away to shield himself from the assault. But he wasn’t completely blind in a sense, literally, as a familiar scent filled the room - one that was not supposed to be there.

“No…” Derek whispered as the acrid stench of blood, pain, and fear reached him. A body hit the floor nearby, and he blindly groped along the floor, squinting against the harsh light.

The door snapped closed, and the room returned to its original state: pitch black.

Following his nose, Derek found the still body. “Stiles,” he called. “Stiles, can you hear me. Stiles!”

No answer.

If Derek had been unable to hear the steady heartbeat and shallow breathing himself, he may have panicked at the stillness. Stiles was never still. He was a whirlwind of excess energy and excitement.

As gently as possible, Derek lifted Stiles off the cold stone floor of their cell and pulled him into the warmth of his lap. The room was freezing. Probably an underground cellar, but Derek hadn’t been anymore conscious than Stiles when they had thrown him in a few hours earlier.

Or yesterday.

That morning?

Time was difficult to track. No light meant no cycle. He couldn’t feel the pull of the moon or the warmth of the sun. He cradled Stiles against his body, tucking the young man’s nose into the curve of his neck.

Stiles wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be safe at home in their apartment. Not here, cold and bleeding in the hands of another pack.

“Damn it, Stiles. Why can’t you just stay out of things,” Derek murmured. He nosed at Stiles temple. It was slick with blood, and Derek whined softly, brushing back the damp hair with a hand before curling his arm around the limp body of his new roommate.

They’d only moved to New York two months ago. The city was neutral territory between several packs, and a haven for omegas and small packs alike. Too many bodies to actively patrol. The very reason he and Laura had settled here after the fire for a few months before claiming a small territory upstate. The three bedroom cabin was still there. Vacant currently. He’d been living there alone until Stiles had called him in May.

The day of graduation, Derek couldn’t have been more proud to watch Stiles walk across that stage and accept his diploma.

Derek leaned back against the stone wall. The cold didn’t bother him, but Stiles was already beginning to shiver in his arms. 

“Come on, Stiles. Wake up.” But Stiles’ breathing remained slow and shallow.

Time ticked on. Derek didn’t know how long had passed by the time Stiles began to stir. A soft groan. The twitch of his arm. Body curling further into the only source of warmth.

Stiles’ heart rate sky-rocketed and his breath quickened. Derek felt Stiles body stiffen against him before he suddenly had a lapful of flailing limbs and screeching teenager.

“Get the fuck off of me! Let me go!” Stiles screamed and yelled - some nonsense, a few threats - as he clawed at Derek in a blind panic that Derek understood all too well.

“Stiles! Stiles, it’s me!” Derek said. His arms tightened around Stiles thin frame on instinct, one he easily gave into. He needed to protect Stiles. He needed to protect his pack.

“D-derek?” Stiles was verging on hyperventilation, moments from tipping into a full panic attack.

Placing a hand on Stiles’ chest, Derek lowered his voice to whisper in Stiles’ ear. “You need to breathe. Breathe with me, Stiles. In… and out. Good. Good. Again. In…” Stiles’ chest rose at his command. “And out.”

It took several long minutes of Derek breathing with Stiles to calm the human until his heartbeat returned to its normal erratic staccato. If he hadn’t already been so familiar with Stiles’ irregular heartbeat, he may have been concerned.

Curling a hand around Stiles’ bicep, Derek drew out any pain from what had no doubt been a short-lived fight against his kidnappers. Stiles sagged against him.

“Thanks, big guy,” Stiles sighed. His heart rate spiked for a brief second, hand tightly gripped Derek’s arm, then settled. “I can’t see. Derek, why can’t I see.”

Derek could hear Stiles patting his face in search of a blindfold. “You’re not blind,” he said. He flashed his eyes, letting them glow blue in the dark. Stiles’ hands cupped Derek’s face. They were ice cold against his skin.

“Thank god,” Stiles breathed. His hand fell back into his lap, and Stiles shifted against Derek, but made no move to climb out of his lap, but he did lean away from the body heat. “So… wanna tell me why I was jumped by several betas on my way to class?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answered honestly.

“You… y-you don’t know!” Stiles sputtered. “What the hell, man. Who did you piss off? I was walking to campus when suddenly there were four assholes surrounding me, and bam! Here I am!”

“I don’t know!” Derek growled. “And why were you walking? I’ve told you to take a cab!”

“Don’t turn this on me. You’re the dick werewolf that people seem to want to pick a fight with, so why the hell am I here? Fuck. Have you been here all night? When you didn’t come home, I thought you were finally out getting laid. Damn it! What the hell are we going to do, Derek!”

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Derek said, aware of the sudden jump in Stiles’ heart. He tried to rub Stiles’ back, but the teenager pulled away, though Derek noticed he still hadn’t left his lap, as if Derek’s physical presence offered some level of comfort in a questionable and uncertain situation.

“This is why I left, Derek. This is why I walked away. Columbia and New York. It was supposed to be a fresh start,” Stiles said. The defeat in his voice was like a knife to the chest. “But I’m just being dragged by into all this supernatural nonsense…”

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmured, with absolute sincerity. He didn’t know why they were here, but he was to blame. He always was.

“Not your fault, big guy.” Stiles body trembled with a violent shiver. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

“Come here.” Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles again, trying to draw him down against his chest. “You’re going to freeze.”

The fight only lasted a few seconds before Stiles gave in with a tired sigh. “Fine. But you better not tell anyone.”

Derek snorted. “Who would I tell?”

“Right. Lost my mind for a second there.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

They didn’t speak much after that. A few short questions wondered aloud, little pointless conversations to distract themselves, and some well-placed and overly familiar bickering. No one bothered them. No one came to question or torture them. Neither he or Stiles could figure out why they were there, or where they were. When he’d first woken up alone in the stone cell, Derek had waited for his vision to adjust, only to realize it wouldn’t before he mapped out the room by touch. It wasn’t very large. Two metres by two metres, maybe. He could lie down flat if need be.

The trembling had grown worse. Stiles body wouldn’t remain still in his arms, and not in the usual restless energy way. Derek could hear the chattering teeth and slowed heartbeat.

Stiles was slowly freezing to death.

“Here. Sit up,” Derek said, helping Stiles upright enough for Derek to pull off his henley. It was a little ripped and bloody, but it would do.

“W-what? What’s going on,” Stiles mumbled. His speech was a little slurred. “Der?”

“Hold on,” Derek said. “Arms up.”

It took several tries to get Stiles’ arms through the holes and tug the shirt down over his head, but it was an extra layer of warmth. The stone was freezing against Derek’s back, but he pulled Stiles back into his body, curling around him as best he could to keep the fragile human warm with his own body heat, and away the icy cold of the stone.

When Derek had picked Stiles up in Beacon Hills after graduation, the Sheriff had taken him aside. It had been an easy promise to make; to look after Stiles. Stiles was pack. His pack. They shared an undeniable bond.

“You’re going to be okay,” Derek said.

Stiles huffed against Derek’s neck. “Even I don’t need to be a werewolf to know that’s a lie…” He was quiet for a moment. “They called me a bitch,” he suddenly said.

“What?”

“When they grabbed me,” Stiles clarified, and Derek’s heart stuttered his chest. “They said, grab the bitch. Der… what does that mean?”

Derek swallowed hard, not sure how to tell Stiles what it meant because it was something that wasn’t true. Or possibly was, but wasn’t. Derek wasn’t entirely sure where he stood in the first place.

Clearing his throat, Derek finally answered in a long voice. “Means they think they grabbed my mate.”

Stiles was very still in Derek’s arms, and his heartbeat fluttered. Even through the sleeves of the borrowed henley, his hands were freezing against Derek’s bare chest.

“But I’m not,” Stiles said very slowly.

“I know.”

There was a long pause in the conversation. Derek could almost hear the gears spinning Stiles’ mind as he worked through the implications and logic.

“Then why,” Stiles finally asked.

“You smell like me,” Derek answered very simply, but he knew Stiles wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer. “We live together, away from the pack. I came with you across the country, set up a home. You… wear my clothes…”

“They’re comfortable,” Stiles muttered.

Derek could hear the pout, and he laughed softly, gently nosing along Stiles’ hairline. “I know.”

“So I act like your mate.”

“Yes… and no.” Derek rested his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head. “You’re pack. But I can see where they would be confused.”

“Right. Cause you could definitely do better than a hyperactive spazz like me,” Stiles muttered.

“I would be honoured to have you as a mate,” Derek growled before he even realized what he was saying. He paused before adding a quiet “anyone would.”

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered, so quiet that even Derek’s enhanced hearing barely picked it up. “Me too.”

Derek gently squeezed Stiles. The teenager’s heart rate was worryingly sluggish, and his breathing a little ragged and slow. “Try to rest,” he murmured. “You need to save your energy.”

“M’kay,” Stiles slurred. “Hey, Der... tell me a story.”

Derek smiled into Stiles’ hair. "Sure."

And Derek did. He told Stiles about his childhood. It was by no means an easy topic, and one he didn't touch on often. The wounds were still raw, even years after the fire, but hearing Stiles quiet chuckles soothed the ache.

Derek told Stiles about the time Laura mixed peroxide into Peter’s conditioner and how he had spent the next few months with blond hair because he refused to shave his head or dye it. Derek talked about the lunar bonfires and pack runs, and how his youngest brother Elijah refused to wear clothing until he was almost seven. Elijah had been eight years younger than him, and human.

There had been a few humans mixed into the Hale pack. His oldest sister Anna who had been three years older than Laura, his brother Elijah, plus Peter’s wife and their two kids - twin boys.

Ashlynn, Peter’s wife, had been five months pregnant with a little girl at the time of the fire. It didn’t excuse Peter’s insanity, but it made it all that more real and understandable when he killed Laura.

Stiles breathing was alarmingly shallow and slow. That’s when Derek realized Stiles was no longer shivering. He was too cold to.

“Stiles,” Derek said. He tried to sit up, muscles protesting as he dragged Stiles upright and tried to rub warm back into the frozen limbs. “Stiles, you need to stay awake.”

“M’tired,” Stiles mumbled, head lolling against Derek’s shoulder.

“I know. I know you are, but you need to stay awake. Come on. Come on, Stiles,” Derek begged. They needed to get out of there, but he knew it was futile. He’d already tried when he first woke up in the cell. Even broke his arm in the process. Resetting it himself had been painful, even if it healed after. “You’re stronger than this, Stiles. Come on. Stay with me.”

“M’just so tir’d.”

Keys rattled in the door, and the ancient lock creaked and groaned. Derek pulled Stiles tight against him as the door swung open. His fangs dropped as he growled a warning, and his eyes flashed blue, but he was still forced to hid his face when the light blinded him.

“Please,” Derek said. The scent of the werewolf that stepped into the cell triggered something in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite place it. “I will do anything you ask, just please help him or he’s going to die.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Derek Hale would beg me for help.”

Squinting against the brightness, Derek caught sight of the alpha red eyes glaring down at him, and he protectively curled around Stiles, another growl low in his throat.

“Now, now. Is that any way to treat an old friend?” the alpha said.

“Alejandro?” Derek said, somewhat astonished. “You’re an alpha…”

“The death of your mate would be unfortunate,” Alejandro said. He crouched down in front of Derek and reached for the weak human, but Derek surged back, dragging Stiles away from the threat. “Tut, tut. If you answer my questions, no harm will come to him. He’s… how should I put it? Leverage?" 

“What do you want?” Derek snapped. Stiles whined against Derek’s throat.

Alejandro stood up, straightening the cuffs of his button down. “Where is your alpha?”

Stiles lifted his head, or tried to. His lips were tinged blue, and his skin sickly pale. “What do you want with Scott?” he asked, far too weak and speech heavily slurred. “Hate to break it to you, dude. But if you have beef with him, Derek is not the one to go through. I mean, I guess you got me, so that’s not too bad, but-”

Alejandro’s alpha roar echoed through the small cell. His fangs dropped, and his eyes flashed red. Derek responded in kind with a flash of his own bright blue eyes and crouched low over Stiles, placing himself between the angry alpha and the foolish human who needed to learn when to shut his mouth.

“Enough of this nonsense. We had a deal, Hale,” Alejandro roared, all pretense of kindness gone. “Where is your alpha? Where is Laura? Or is she that much of a coward that she couldn’t break it off herself.”

Derek stopped breathing. He heard Stiles gasp softly, but he was too caught in his own shock to respond.

When Derek and Laura fled to New York, Alejandro had been the leader of a pack of alphaless omegas, and more importantly, he had been their friend. He looked out for them when they had no one, and protected them while they mourned.

The omegas had been reluctant to accept Laura as their alpha. She was young,  and they didn’t trust her, but they trusted Alejandro. Their courtship had lasted years, but a mateship had been offered, and Laura had accepted. It hadn't been a love match, but it was one of mutual admiration and respect, and they needed the safety of a pack. 

Laura had only planned a quick trip to Beacon Hills to check on the territory, but she never returned. He could see how it could be construed as cowardess, by running away from obligation. Derek had followed only to find her…

“Dead.”

It took Derek several seconds to realize it hadn't been him that spoke, but Stiles. He whined softly and pulled the weakened human back into the safety and warmth of his arms. Stiles felt like ice against his bare skin, even through the layers of clothing.

“She’s dead,” Stiles repeated.

“I don’t believe you,” Alejandro snarled and advanced, but Derek snarled his own warning in return. Stiles' heartbeat was to low to read. “If she was dead, Derek would be alpha. He’s  beta.”

“It’s true,” Derek said. He bowed his head, mourning the loss of his sister. “She was killed for her alpha status.”

“No…”

Stiles shifted, trying to sit up, but his limbs didn’t appear to want to cooperate with him. “I saw her body. Well, the top half…” he said with a sympathetic wince. “Sorry, Der.”

Derek shuddered. The memory of finding his sister’s body laid out for him to discover was still too fresh, even three years later. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” Stiles whispered back. “But we killed the bastard who did it. I got to throw a fucking molotov cocktail. It was awesome and totally badass.”

“Yeah,” Derek murmured against Stiles temple. Alejandro wasn’t important anymore. The alpha had already fled having learned the truth of the supposed betrayal, and the door had been left wide open behind him to grant their freedom. People needed to learn to ask them a question instead of outright kidnapping them.

Laura may be gone, but Derek still had Stiles. “Yeah, it was. Let’s get you home.”

“Can we kill the dickhead first?” Stiles asked as Derek scooped him up and carried him out of the dark cellar. There was no sight of the other pack. Only scents lingered.

Derek snorted. Stiles heartbeat was still weak, and his skin ice cold, but he hadn’t lost that terrible sense of humour. “No, but I’ll make you hot chocolate and let you steal my sweater.”

“The one with the thumb-holes?” Stiles sounded far too eager. Derek would never understand his fascination, but he agreed. Stiles could have anything he asked for because Stiles was pack.

Stiles was family.

**Author's Note:**

> You can stalk me on Tumblr here: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Part of the Sterek A-Z, weekly one word prompts, challenge on Tumblr. If you're curious about it, ask me!


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